


How we met

by Rogercat



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brothers, F/M, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Injury Recovery, Married Couple, Memories, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogercat/pseuds/Rogercat
Summary: After a injury on duty as a police officer, Fingolfin tells Maeglin how he met Anairë
Relationships: Anairë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Aredhel & Maeglin | Lómion, Finarfin | Arafinwë & Fingolfin | Nolofinwë, Fingolfin & Maeglin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	How we met

**Author's Note:**

> partly inspired by chapters 284-286 in the japanese manga Detective Conan

It was yet another case where they had managed to catch a criminal before any more victims were attacked. Yet officer Fingolfin Ringil had gotten injured during the arrest, as he nearly found himself knocked out by a metal pipe the criminal had tried to use in order to escape. 

“Sir, you are bleeding!” 

Touching where the injury was on his forehead, Fingolfin swore loudly. 

“Damn, Anairë is going to scold me for this...hey, hey! I can walk to the car on my own feet!” 

He was not surprised at all that a pair of the other police officers dragged him to another police car to drive him to the hospital. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The next day, Finarfin arrived at the hospital to visit his brother on the way to his own work. 

“Oh, you were hit **_there_ ** of all places? Of course you are annoyed, given the memories linked to that scar,” the blond man commented at seeing where the bandage was placed. 

Fingolfin glared at his brother, instead returning his focus to the book which his wife had left for him to read in order to pass some time. Yet he did not have time to read more than half of a page, when the sound of small feet and the voice of a school-aged child was heard: 

“Grandpa! How are your head today?”

Oh, it was Maeglin, meaning that Aredhel must have arrived to the hospital to check on him now when visitors were allowed. 

“Better than yesterday, thank you. But I am longing to return home, so I can recover in the tender care of your grandmother,” Fingolfin smiled at his grandson, allowing the pre-teen to follow the bandage with a finger. Outside the room, he could hear Aredhel ask the doctor something. 

“Grandmother was acting a bit funny before we left, though. She almost seemed odd when she heard where you had been hit.” 

Of course, and Fingolfin knew perfectly why. He and Anairë happened to have nearly identical scars on their foreheads, a memory of the case leading to their first meeting. 

“You know, Maeglin, I think you are old enough to be told the full details of how I met your grandmother as a junior police officer,” Fingolfin said, and started the story: 

How it all had began with Anairë and several others of her fellow female college students starting a writing club with the goal of trying to publish their own books, only to finding themselves be assaulted by a male college student who proved himself rather sexist about what he thought of female writers, that they would focus on cliche romance stories and such. Especially Anairë, since she really was a promising author and refused to be scared by sexist threats sent to her both in the mail and during school. Then, with time the police had gotten involved because it began to degenerate into physical attacks. 

“Since I was among the youngest officers, I ended up in the role of being her bodyguard. That turned out to be a good idea, because that young man eventually snapped over that your grandmother refused to quit writing despite how much he threatened her and actually tried to run her over with his car.”

They had both been hit badly, ending up in the hospital for the injuries, but Fingolfin had managed to see car's license plate number, and the perpetrator was quickly arrested soon afterwards. But the biggest surprise had came on the day he was released from the hospital; 

“Grandma asked you out on a date despite that you two did not really know each other that well?” 

Fingolfin laughed softly at the memory. 

“And when the first date ended, she gave me something which remains special for me even today, after so many years. The original manuscript of the first book she would end up publishing only half a year later, making the start of her career as a famous author.” 

As he spoke, Anairë had placed herself in the doorway to the hospital room where her husband was recovering.

“Though I would not recommend that as a way of finding a spouse, Maeglin dear. It is a huge difference between reading of a life-and-death situation in fiction, and actually experience it for real.”

When she walked over to the bed and bent down to kiss Fingolfin on the lips, Maeglin could see her scar on the forehead. He had never thought about its origins, actually, merely seeing it as a part of his paternal grandmother. 

“Here is something for you, dad. Some crossword to solve while you pass the time waiting to get home.”

But Aredhel was not the only one having a gift for Fingolfin. Anairë picked up something from her handbag, not letting her daugther, brother-in-law or grandson see what it was. 

“My newest book are inspired by the events leading to our relationship,” she whispered in his ear. That caught Fingolfin's interest for real. She allowed only him to read the manus of her books while she was writing, so given where she had chosen inspiration from this time, made it special. 

“I will enjoy reading it, then, beloved.” 

A final kiss for now, and she led their family members out since the visiting time was nearly over. 

“See you in a few days again, grandpa!” Maeglin called, waving to him before they left into the corridor. Smiling, Fingolfin adjusted the pillows for a better sitting position and began to read, no longer feeling the pain from the wound on his forehead, that would soon become a scar again. 


End file.
